


The Tim Drake Saga: Chapter One

by crackspines



Series: The Tim Drake Saga [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Abuse, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Child Abuse, Dick Grayson is a Talon, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Social Anxiety, Talon!Dick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:29:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24119557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackspines/pseuds/crackspines
Summary: There isn't much thirteen-year-old Tim Drake wouldn't do for Batman and Robin. Without them, he'd be stuck in an empty mansion every night and stuck in his lack-luster life.So when Jason Todd dies only a year after Dick Grayson, leaving Batman a wreck, Tim steps out from behind the lens to save the idea of the Dynamic Duo. Along the way, Tim might just learn what it takes to be his own hero and the heavy burden that comes with the pixie boots.***This is the story of Tim Drake's very beginning and how he became Robin in a world where Dick Grayson, assumed dead, is in the Court of the Owl's clutches.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: The Tim Drake Saga [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740349
Comments: 19
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

If you saw a thirteen-year-old boy roaming around Gotham at night, armed with nothing but a camera and a sweater vest his housekeeper bought him for Christmas, you might think him brave. But Tim Drake wasn’t brave. He was stupid, and he was  _ desperate.  _

The ever-present dark circles under his eyes blended into the shadows as he rushed down a smelly alleyway, flowing a flash of yellow cape above. Though scrawny and short, Tim leaped up onto a fire escape, taking the rungs two at a time to reach the top in record time. 

For his gym teacher, that little display would have been the shock of a lifetime. 

Tim reached the top just in time to grab his camera and snap a shot of a boy in yellow, green, and red, jumping from rooftop to rooftop and whooping loudly against the wind. 

Snapping as many shots as he could before Robin disappeared, Tim let a happy, dazed expression take over his face. 

Jason Todd. The second Boy Wonder, and Tim’s number one hero. Sure, the boy had followed Batman and the first Robin with the same fanaticism, but it was different with Jason. This Robin was his age. 

And this Robin was still alive. 

A gust of Gotham wind blew Tim’s dark hair into his face, reminding him he needed to ask Mrs. Peterson to schedule an appointment to get it cut. His mother would go into fits if she saw him in this state. 

But then, they’d have to visit home more than once every couple of months to see it. The thought wiped the smile from his face, and he toyed with the camera restlessly. 

Without that bright yellow cape around, the night seemed even darker, every shadow malignant, every noise causing the hair of the back of Tim’s neck to stand up. It was moments like these where he knew he wasn’t brave. Just obsessed. 

The Bat-Signal lit up the sky and the shadows on that rooftop. Tim’s head snapped in that direction, though he didn’t lift his camera. He had enough pictures of the signal to fill a whole photo album. 

Instead, he scrambled down the side of the building and took off towards the police station. If he hurried, he might be able to snap a couple of shots of the Dynamic Duo with the Commissioner. 

That quickly, the smile returned to Tim’s face, and he rode off into the night on his bicycle. 

_____

Tim followed the bats four days out of the week. He didn’t allow himself more, and the thought had never crossed his mind to do less. As it was, he got in around four in the morning and woke up at seven to dress and run out to meet the private driver that would take him to school. 

With that sleep schedule, he drank one cup of coffee for breakfast--black, no messing around--and packed a thermos full with the life-giving drink in his Batman backpack. He’d stitched the bat symbol on the bag himself; it was almost impossible to buy bat-products, as Wayne Industries owned the copyright. 

On this particular Monday, however, Tim had reached inside that bag too often for his thermos. The bell for lunch hadn’t even rung yet, and he was out of coffee. Maybe he’d overdone it last night with the fire escapes. 

His history teacher, who was more gut than man, released them a few minutes early to put their belongings in their lockers. This put a couple of his classmates in good spirits, but Tim shrunk into his school-issued, blue jacket. Those kids didn’t have a target on their backs and a locker right by the older boys’ locker room. 

Shoving his large textbook on top of his empty thermos, he launched himself towards the door, almost running over a girl bleach-burnt hair. She gave him a nasty glare and muttered something under her breath. 

Avoiding eye contact, Tim apologized and continued his mad dash to his locker. If he hurried, he might be able to grab his supplies for algebra and find a secluded place to eat before PE let out. 

Unfortunately, no sooner had he opened his spotless locker did the door to the locker room swing open. Steam from the showers and the thick smell of body spray wafted out along with three beefy 8th graders. 

Derek Powers and his three cronies. Popular, vicious, and bored in the way only obscenely rich kids could be. 

Upon seeing Tim in a mostly deserted hallway, the other dark-haired boy grinned and elbowed one of his friends. 

“Heya, Timmy,” Derek said, leaning up against the locker next to Tim’s. 

Frozen with his hand gripping the door of his locker and face turned towards his shoes, Tim wished fervently that he could be like Jason or Dick. Snappy comeback at the moment followed by a right hook that would scare off Derek, his friends, and all the boys like him at this stupid school. 

But Tim wasn’t Jason or Dick, so he did nothing as Derek shoved him back into his locker door. It wasn’t very hard but something sharp poked Tim in the back, making him wince. 

Seeing the Batman backpack hanging at Tim’s side, Derek grabbed it, his face twisting into a sneer. Tim tried to grab the bag, but the taller boy was faster. 

“Gee, Timmy, are you a Batman fan?” He shook the symbol in the smaller boy’s face. “We couldn’t tell.” 

That prompted a chorus of snickers from his backup dancers. 

Tim clenched his fists, knuckles going white with tension. He wanted to scream at them, push them back, teach them a lesson. He wanted to tell them it was Tim, not Timmy. He wanted to demand his bag back. That embroidery had taken a whole afternoon. 

Ok, well, maybe he wouldn’t have told them about that last bit. 

When he went to open his mouth, however, none of that came out. Instead, he said, “Can...Will you ple--please give me my bag back?” His voice broke halfway through. Why the hell had he said please? 

Derek grinned wider, still keeping the bag out of Tim’s grip. “Sure thing, Timmy,” he said easily. “Wouldn’t want you to have a bat-freak-out.” 

“But wait,” Derek went on, half turning back to his audience. “Isn’t Batman technically a criminal vigilante?” 

His cronies nodded. 

“So this--” He pointed to the bat. “--is just as bad a gang sign, right, guys?” 

The boy on the right, Marsh, spoke up, “It’s against school rules.” 

Tim was trembling now. “Please, just give it back. I won’t bring it to school anymore. I promise.” 

Placing a hand over his heart, Derek feigned offense. “And make you go out and buy a new one? What kind of guy do you think I am?” 

You’re a bully, Tim thought furiously. And you don’t know the first thing about Batman. 

“No,” Derek said, “since I’m such a nice guy, I won’t put you through that.” 

Flashing Tim a savage grin, he gripped the hand-made patch and ripped it free of the bag with all his might. It took a couple of tries, mangling the stitching beyond repair. Once the whole symbol was gone, Derek dropped the bag and the ruined patch at Tim’s feet. 

“There,” he said. “No fuss.” 

The group left Tim then, heading toward the cafeteria and laughing loudly amongst themselves. Once they were out of sight, Tim bent down and started to pick up the pieces of his bat, angry tears burning at the edges of his eyes. 

Instead of heading towards the cafeteria himself, he grabbed everything he needed and snuck out the back door of the gym. There were a half dozen coffee shops near the campus of Gotham Academy, so Tim picked one at random. The barista gave him a funny look when he ordered three added espresso shots in his drink, but no one else paid him any attention. 

Settling into a corner table with only one seat, he sipped his glorified crack and pulled out a tablet. Under his most-recently-used apps sat one he created with a bat signal as the skin. He’d gotten tired of searching through the different news outlets for bat-news, so he’d set up an advanced filtering system that outputted only the stories he wanted from the major news organizations around the world. 

The news from last night’s adventures popped up on his dashboard. There was a picture of Batman and Robin foiling a jewelry theft. Jason was grinning, likely from whatever insult he’d just hurled at the criminal. No one would rip a patch from Jason’s backpack.

Despite the smile, there was still a somber note in the photo, one that Tim had picked up many times when photographing them since Dick Grayson’s death. Almost a year had passed since Nightwing died while fighting with the Teen Titans, and the Bat-Family was still reeling over the loss. So was Tim. 

Shaking off those melancholy thoughts, Tim took a sip of coffee and sat back. For a few moments, before he had to return to class, he sat in that coffee shop and imagined himself as the brash and brave Jason Todd. Maybe Tim was nothing like him--and never would be--but maybe proximity to his hero was enough. 

And who knows, Tim thought, maybe he’d even get to meet him one day. He could just imagine that. Batman and Robin would notice him following him one night. Sure, they’d be worried about his safety, but once they saw his pictures, they’d understand. 

They got to fly, and Tim got to watch. 

Tim’s fantasy would never play out, though, because by the end of the summer, Jason Todd would follow his predecessor, leaving Batman to fly, truly and completely, alone. 


	2. Chapter 2

“What’s a little brat like you doing out so late?” A man with only one tooth in his mouth spit at Tim from the other side of the counter in the bodega. 

A stranger. Talking to him. He needed to respond. Tim’s mouth went inexplicably dry, and he had to swallow audibly so he wouldn’t sound like a 13-year-old chain smoker. 

“Take a walk,” Tim said, sliding a couple of dollars across the counter. “I mean  _ taking _ a walk. Me. That’s what I’m doing.” 

The man seemed to write Tim off as a strange boy with a possible brain injury and let him take off with his energy drink. Even in Gotham, the coffee shops weren’t open at two in the morning. 

Surprisingly, Tim’s cherry red bike is right where he left it outside the convenience store. Despite himself, the boy deflated a bit at seeing the intact bike lock. His nights out with the Dynamic Duo used to be the best times of Tim’s life. After Dick and then Jason, he wasn’t sure if he loved them or hated them. 

When the newspaper announcing Jason Todd’s death landed on the Drake’s doorstep, Tim hadn’t cried. He’d been too numb for that. Instead, he stayed in his house for close to a month, barely leaving for school. He kept his camera buried under a pile of blankets in his closet where there was no chance he’d accidentally see it. 

Tim assumed Batman was doing the same. When he finally stopped avoiding his news app, however, a flood of headlines with Batman’s name in them popped up on his dashboard. 

_ Dark Knight Sends Two Muggers to the ER _

_ Man in Full-Body Cast Says Batman to Blame _

_ Caped Crusader Turned Crazed Brute?  _

All of Gotham watched, transfixed and a little horrified as the news became worse and worse. It wasn’t just criminals afraid to leave their houses anymore. No one was sure whether Batman would know the difference between innocent and guilty anymore. 

But a city-wide panic wouldn’t dissuade Tim Drake. It would take a lot more than a few bruised bad guys to turn his opinion on his hero--the only one he had left. 

Swallowing against the pit in his throat, Tim climbed onto the bike and rode off towards Batman’s last known sighting a couple of blocks down. Though he was right on top of the red-light district, the alleys and street corners were empty. The only presence he could sense was the weight of eyes watching him from every window. 

Tim stiffened his upper lip and rode on. The public might have lost their trust in Batman, but he wasn’t afraid. Jason and Dick wouldn’t want their deaths to be the end. 

When Tim pulls up near a library branch, he catches a flash of shadow near the rooftop. Excitement pulsing in his veins, he left the bike and ran to the nearest fire escape. The metal was a little slippery from earlier rain, so it cost him precious time climbing carefully. 

The heat of the summer was smothering and still, and Tim wiped the sweat away from his forehead when he reached the top. Turning, camera at the ready, he tried to spot any kind of movement. 

At first, there was nothing, and the silence in the air was a little eerie. Tim’s slightly uneven breaths were like claps of thunder in the quiet night. 

Just at the edge of his vision, near the rooftop entrance to the apartment building, there was a burst of movement. Just a shape in the darkness, slightly illuminated by the streetlamps below. Though Tim was hoping for that movement, when it came, he froze. 

Because that shape wasn’t wearing a cape. 

“Nightwing?” Tim said, voice barely above a whisper. 

Shoes scruffing against the wet concrete, he moved towards where he had last seen the figure. Of course, he knew it wasn’t Nightwing. He was dead. But he was also the only hero in Gotham without a cape, so maybe…. 

A pair of luminous, gold eyes appeared just a few feet from Tim. They stared him down, and there was something animalistic yet calculating about those eyes. 

Definitely not Nightwing. 

The camera went off without Tim consciously pushing the button. Stumbling back, Tim tripped over his own feet. He landed in a puddle, getting the butt of his jeans wet and biting his tongue because he tried to scream and fall at the same time. 

Confession time: Tim was afraid. He was afraid of whatever lurked in the darkness. He was afraid of his own shadow. And he was afraid of Batman. 

A shriek on his tongue, he pushed himself to his feet and booked it to the fire escape. The entire time, he saw those eyes in his mind’s eye and felt them on his back. 

In his haste, he forgot about the rain and took the rungs too quickly. About halfway down, his foot slipped, plunging his body down a few feet and ripping his grip on the bars near his face. Instinctually, Tim grabbed madly to avoid falling and got lucky with one of the last rungs on the ladder. 

For a moment, he just hung there, breathing heavily and expecting some creature to grab him from the darkness at any moment. When his muscles started to scream, he slowly lowered himself the rest of the way. 

Once safely on the ground, he ran to his bike, relieved to see it this time. Without a look back, he pedaled away. And willed himself not to feel the pair of eyes boring a hole in his back. 

It wasn’t until he stopped at the front gates to the Drake Estate that he realized his arm hurt. His hoodie was torn around a wicked, jagged cut on his forearm. Blood seeped from what looked to be a decently deep wound. 

Probably happened during the fall. 

The medkit he kept under the sink in his bathroom didn’t have anything for stitches, so he just had to hope it wasn’t that deep. And that he didn’t get tetanus. One of the drawbacks of being a kid is you can’t just check yourself into an ER with a wound like this. That’s when social services got called. 

Not that a social worker would be able to contact his parents about his nightly activities. Tim couldn’t even get ahold of them half the time. 

After cleaning and patching up the cut to the best of his abilities, he stowed his camera and changed into his pajamas. A glance at the clock told him it was hours before he usually got home. 

He tried lying down in his own bed for a time. But he could only toss and turn, thinking every tap at the window, shadow from a chair, or rustling of sheets was the golden-eyed creature. 

Out of left field, Tim found himself wishing for his old night-light. Mr. Bright-Bear lit up his room for years before his parents threw it away, telling him he was far too old for such silliness. They were right. He was. But even though it’d been years since he used one, he wanted the soft, yellow glow of the light to chase away his fears. 

Instead, he gathered his comforter and headed down the hallway to his parent’s bedroom. He didn’t want to mess up their bed, so he laid on top of its blankets, cocooning himself in his own comforter and shutting his eyes tight. 

Though he’d never slept with his parents--another silly, childish activity--Tim could smell his mother’s perfume and his father’s aftershave on their pillows. With that, it wasn’t too hard to imagine they were sleeping on either side of him, keeping him safe. Maybe his mother would even run her fingers through his hair. 

He fell asleep pretending he wasn’t alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment below and let me know what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning Tim woke up a whole lot less scared and a lot more worried. Each day the news from Batman got darker and more violent. The uplifting posts he used to read while swallowing gulp after gulp of coffee in the morning were gone. Now, he mostly just stared at the white, spotless kitchen counters that never got used. 

It felt like the world was just watching the hero deteriorate, but Tim wouldn’t sit idly by a moment longer. Nightwing was gone. Robin was gone. But there was still one more member of the Bat-Family prowling through Gotham. He just didn’t know if she’d be able to do anything. 

So, after pulling on the polo Mrs. Peterson gave him for his last birthday, Tim called one of the Drake’s drivers to pick him up. Biking around Gotham at night, in neighborhoods where no one would recognize the Drake heir, was one thing. Broad daylight meant more conventional means of travel. 

The driver dropped Tim off at the main branch of the Gotham Public Library downtown. Pillars stretched up four stories, and the crown molding was Greek-inspired. Altogether, the expansive build seemed a cross between the Capitol building and the Pantheon. 

Waving good-bye to his chauffeur, Tim walked quickly up the steps and towards the front desk. In the entrance, the ceilings stretched up at least thirty feet, and the silence within the building was deafening. 

He sighed in content at the sight of so much knowledge under one roof. Did Batman know every fact housed in this place? Probably, Tim thought with a grin. He’s Batman. 

An older woman with dark chin hair and an air of impatience sat behind the main desk, staring at a book laid flat in front of her. When Tim stopped a foot away from her downturned nose, she didn’t even spare him a second glance. 

Which meant he had to say something and interrupt her. A fine layer of sweat broke out across his palms and the nape of his neck. 

“Excuse me..ma’am?” 

She flipped to the next page. “Yes?” 

Honestly, Tim wasn’t even put off by her rudeness; he was just happy he didn’t have to look her in the eye. 

“I’m here to see Miss Gordon.” 

“Is she expecting you?” 

“Er--yes. Yes, just tell her someone is here to talk to her about bats.” 

That earned him a glance and a raised eyebrow. He shrugged, poker face intact. “School project.” 

The woman relays the message into an internal phone. Tim can’t hear what is said on the other end, but eventually, she looks up and points him in the direction of the elevators. 

“4th floor. Room 426.” 

The elevator had three people in it already, so Tim waited for the next one, hoping it was free of people. Once the doors opened to the fourth floor, he saw a maze of offices and conference rooms. Each one was personalized, many sporting pictures of beaches or loved ones to make up for the fact that the sun was nowhere to be seen. 

Signs pointing him in the direction of room 426 were also nowhere to be seen. 

In the end, Tim almost walked right past Ms. Gordon’s office while trying to look like he knew exactly where he was going. He had to backpedal when he registered the right, orange hair lying halfway down the back of a woman with a lumpy sweater. 

Not wanting to presume, he stepped barely an inch past her door and waited for her to spin around to face him. He didn’t have to wait long, Bat training seeming to alert her as soon as he stopped walking. 

Barbara Gordon didn’t look like Batgirl. Her clothes hid the muscles and the grace so evident when you watched her catapult around Gotham at night. Her face, when not covered by a cowl, was soft and had the beginning of laugh lines around her mouth. She even had a small coffee stain on her chest, Tim noted. 

When she arched an eyebrow, Tim focused back on her face with a modified flush to his cheeks. 

“I-I wasn’t...looking...there,” he said, words choppy. 

She didn’t comment, steely eyes pinning him to the spot. “What can I do for you, Mr. Drake?” 

It shouldn’t have sent a thrill up his spine that she knew his name. She was Batgirl. Plus, Barbara Gordon and Tim Drake had attended a few of the same charity functions. He’d watched her from afar. Which kind of had a stalker vibe now that he’d thought it out loud.

“I need to speak with you. Privately.” He glanced back at the open door. 

When she said nothing, Tim closed the door behind him and came a little closer to her desk. The whole interaction was enough to make him sweat buckets, but he couldn’t risk them being overheard. 

Fishing into his pocket, he pulled out a few photos from the past week and placed them on Ms. Gordon’s desk. They were a little crumpled from his pants, but it was easy enough to make out the familiar, caped figure in each of them. 

Her poker face was impeccable as she studied the photos of Batman sadistically beating the crap out of petty criminal after petty criminal. There was one of him gut punching the Condiment King that was particularly brutal. 

Finally, she leaned back into her chair and regarded Tim again. “I don’t work in the archives department. Try 475 down the hall.” 

Tim swallowed. He hadn’t expected her to come out and confirm it. She was too good for that, and he was just a nobody. 

“I don’t need archives,” he said. “I just came here to say… Robin’s gone so maybe Batgirl needs to be the one to help Batman.” 

Not even a flicker on surprise in those green eyes, though her face did harden a bit. “I’d imagine there’s only so much Batgirl can do.” 

Instead of replying, he pushed the pictures towards her and said, “Please.” 

After a moment, Batgirl gathered them up and slid them into a compartment in her desk. When she glanced back up at Tim, she nodded slightly, and he felt a surge of hope and relief. 

The moment ended as soon as it began. Ms. Gordon’s attention slid back to the work open on her computer, leaving Tim to make a timely exit.

_____

Tim went out again that night. Partly because he was emboldened by Batgirl’s nonverbal promise and partly because he couldn’t do anything else. When he gave himself time to think about it, he felt a little like a trapped spectator to the fallout of the Batman.

Willing or not, he followed Batman’s shadow around the historic district for hours without getting any good shots. His hero wasn’t really staying in one spot for long enough to get a picture, which was probably fortunate for the criminals in the city. 

A little after midnight, however, their luck ran out. 

A man with an ironic t-shirt and a large scar on his face came out of a bar not twenty yards in front of Tim. It’s dark, but Tim almost immediately recognized him as one of Two-Face’s regular goons. 

Batman recognized him too. 

Before Tim could do more than dismount his bike, Batman swooped in, grabbed the man by the throat, and chucked him halfway down the dark alley next to the bar. A couple of patrons smoking by the back door spooked at the sound of skin against the pavement and ran back inside. 

Wasting no time, Batman was on the man in less than a second, slamming him against the nearest brick wall. The back of the man’s head connected painfully, and the sound seemed to echo throughout all of Gotham. 

Batman growled something Tim can’t make out. In response, Two-Face’s goon spit at the vigilante. A cold, scared knot formed in Tim’s stomach, and his fingers went white from strain around his bike’s handlebars. 

The retaliation was quick and brutal. Batman rammed his fist into the other man’s face, and then his stomach, and then his side. The blows kept coming and coming so fast that Tim could barely follow it. 

“Where. Is. Two-Face,” Batman ground out in between hits. 

When Tim had lost count of how many times Batman hit him, the man started to whimper with every punch. Blood was steadily flowing from between his lips, and he leaned back against the wall like he couldn’t stand on his own anymore.   
The henchman was at his breaking point. “Stop...please….” 

If Batman heard, he gave no indication. The Caped Crusader drew his fist back for another attack, and something inside Tim cracked wide open. 

“Batman, stop!” He ran up to the two men, the air of the night cool against the tears on his cheeks. “You’ll kill him!” 

The vigilante turned towards Tim with his fist still raised, and for a moment, Tim was sure he’d hit him and shatter the boy into a million little pieces. 

Instead, his hero reached for his grappling gun and left the man he’d beaten half to death sag onto Gotham’s filthy ground. Tim watched him head in the direction of the bat-symbol, feeling cold and numb despite the heat in the air. 

But there wasn’t time for a breakdown. He refocused his attention on the man at his feet, slumped over and breathing shallowly. 

“Sir?” He placed a hesitant hand on the man’s shoulder. “Can you stand?” 

The henchman made no effort to move, so Tim wrapped an arm around his torso and helped tug him to his feet. The man groaned and cried out at the sudden movement. Once standing, however, he was able to bear more of his own weight than Tim could have hoped. 

“There’s a clinic,” Tim said. “Just around the corner.” 

“No hospitals, man,” he wheezed. 

Surprising himself with his boldness, Tim replied, “Hospital or morgue.” 

With that, they started walking, Tim taking as much of the man’s weight as he could. It was slow, exhausting work. They passed a couple of people on the way but none made any moves to help or to hinder, watching their progress with cautiously curious eyes. 

When the pair made it through the doors of the free clinic, a nurse came running up to them. She helped drag the henchman to an open gurney, for which Tim was grateful. At this point, he was gasping for breath and drenched in sweat. 

Would have been nice to have Robin help out with that one, Tim thought. But then, if one of the Robins were alive, none of this would have happened. 

“Did you see what happened?” the nurse asked while quickly taking the man’s vitals and checking for life-threatening injuries. 

Tim shook his head mutely. 

Pursing her lips, she said, “I’ll need you to stay and talk to the police. We’ll have to file an official report.” 

The woman had barely finished talking before Tim took off across the clinic, catching the door as a man with a gash across his bare chest walked in. Behind him, he could hear several voices shouting for him to stop, for someone to grab him, but he was already gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Tim had seen enough movies to know what was supposed to happen next. Alone, depressed, sitting in the dark. This was when he started singing happy birthday to himself under his breath. 

Sighing, he blew out the single candle on top of a disaster of a birthday cake. The right half of it, likely underbaked, was collapsing and sliding off the side of the plate. It looked like a chocolate frosting avalanche, threatening to take out the villagers below. 

Hopping down from the kitchen counter, he grabbed the plate and placed it (cake and all) into the sink. Despite his sour mood, his movements were gentle. The last thing he needed was to break a dish just before his parents came home. 

No, everything needed to be perfect from the time they crossed the threshold. Coming back from a lengthy archeological dig, they were supposed to be home for almost a month. It would more than make up for a missed fourteenth birthday, though he had hoped they’d at least call.

Shaking off his heavy thoughts, Tim plopped down on the loveseat in the living room, wincing as his bony butt hit bony furniture. The piece was more for show than actual sitting. 

The TV was already set to Gotham’s most popular news channel. Tim wasn’t much for cartoons. His mom always said they would make him common, and while he didn’t necessarily know why that was a bad thing, he didn’t want to disappoint her. 

“Gotham has been left reeling today after an attack by the Joker on Commissioner Gordon’s daughter. Barbara Gordon, librarian at the Gotham Public library, was shot multiple times at close range by the Joker in her apartment, according to police. Our sources say she is still in critical condition.” 

The accompanying anchor angled himself towards his coworker as she finished speaking. “Just horrible, Mable. Any word from the Commissioner?” 

“He was unavailable for--”   
But Tim didn’t really hear the rest. A loud buzzing in his ears drowned out all other noise. For a moment, he felt like the word was tilting on the z-axis, and he was going to slip right out of his seat and across the floor. He white-knuckled the loveseat’s chair. 

Batgirl. Nightwing. Robin… Batgirl. Nightwing. Robin…. All gone. There was no one left, and Batman was all alone. 

What would the headlines say tomorrow?

_____

Usually, Tim’s parents brought a mixed bag of emotions with them when they came home. On one hand, he was ecstatic for every second he had with them. Even if he wasn’t their focus for most of those seconds.

On the other hand, Tim couldn’t sneak out under Jack and Janet’s noses. Their arrival always marked the brief pause in his night-time activities. And for the first time, Tim was relieved. 

The night after his birthday, his parents brushed through the front door like they’d never left. His mother kissed his forehead and asked about his final report card. He ran off to find a hard copy, though he’d emailed the digital one weeks ago. His father patted him on the back, eyes sparkling, when he saw all the As line up in a column. Tim felt weightless. 

It couldn’t all be about Tim, of course. The next morning, Jack and Janet spent most of the day at Drake Industries, attending important meetings. 

“Not a place for kids, Timothy,” his mother told him on the way out the front door. 

By the time they got back, the sun had been down for hours. Tim was waiting for them, however, and delighted over the fact that they brought Chinese food with them. Normally, his parents turned their noses up at takeout. 

Jack waited until Tim’s mouth was crammed full of crab rangoons to say, “We got you something. A late birthday present.” 

“Really?” 

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” his mother said. “It’s in my suitcase upstairs.” 

Swallowing with effort, he leapt to his feet and flew up the stairs. Which was silly, really, he told himself. He had everything he needed. More than he needed, really. 

A medium-sized box wrapped in silver paper was crammed between a bag of toiletries and a pair of sensible sandals. One of the corners was dented, the paper torn just slightly. The opening was too small to make out any further information. 

“What could be taking so long?” His mother called up the stairs. 

Her words an electric prod to his ass, he hastened back to the living room with his present. His parents were still smiling when he got there, though Janet’s was a little tight around the edges. 

He set the box down near the lo mein. He wanted to tear off the wrapping and use up some of the excited energy coursing through his veins. Instead, he slipped a finger under a crease and carefully pulled away the tape holding the edges together. The smile on his mother’s face widened, becoming real again. 

The rest of the silver paper gave way, revealing a box advertising a brand new, top of the line camera. It was the kind of thing most photography nerds would drool over, squeal with happiness. 

But it was digital. 

He knew it was better, and he didn’t like to seem ungrateful but-- “I like to develop my film,” he mumbled. 

Jack waved a hand. “With this you won’t have to. We can take back that guest closet.” 

A couple years back, they’d let him set up a dark room in one of the many closets in the mansion. It was his safe place. He’d spend hours tucked away there, emerging with photos developed by his own hand. If they were around, he would share them with his parents. 

“This way is more efficient, Timmothy,” Janet said, picking at a perfectly manicured nail. “Efficiency is one of the most important principles of business.” 

Jack nodded. “You need to learn.” 

After a scant moment, he nodded and thanked them. If his smile was a little hollow, neither parent seemed to notice. 

“Good,” Jack said. “Now that that’s settled, we need to talk to you.” 

Tim’s body went stiff, all thoughts of cameras forced out of his mind. Was the camera just an opening? Did they know? But surely if they knew, they would have addressed his night-time activities before this point. Right? 

“We know we were supposed to be home for longer,” his dad said, “but something’s come up.” 

“There’s been an incredible discovery at the excavation site,” his mother continued. “If we’re not there--” 

“I understand,” Tim said. And he did. What his parents did was important. Their work needed them a lot more than their son did. 

Jack clapped him on the shoulder again. “That’s my champ.” 

His mother, however, wasn’t done. Her gaze bored right into Tim. “You understand why we’re gone so much, don’t you? Why we work so hard?”

Not sure what the right answer was, he nodded slightly instead. 

Smiling, she said, “We do it for you, Timothy. One day, Drake industries will be yours. When that happens, I know you’ll follow the example we’ve set.” 

The three of them turned in not long after that, but Tim lied awake for hours, mulling over his mother’s words. They lead by example for him, their young successor? Something about that prickled at him, sticking with him until the wee hours of morning like food in between his teeth. 

By the time he woke up, his parents were gone. The sound of milk pouring into his cereal bowl was like a gunshot in the silent house. He swirled the flakes around in the bowl while pulling up his Batman feed. 

Joker Back in Arkham after Brutal Beating from Batman

The headline came with a picture attached. Surprisingly, the photographer had managed to get a shot of Batman himself. Tim felt a spark of jealousy. 

The shot depicted Batman against the skyline, retreating by way of a grapple gun. He was alone. No colorful birds in sight. The set of his jaw was frighteningly tense. 

The situation seemed to only be getting worse. With Batgirl out of commission, who was left to help his Caped Crusader? His state-of-mind could only be going downhill. 

Studying the picture again and the empty space, he couldn’t help but recall his mother’s words from last night. What if the solution lied in what was missing?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you that have read "Batman: A Lonely Place of Dying," you might notice that a lot of the dialog directly matches what was said in the comics. That's because I'm a nerd for accuracy.

Tim didn’t run into supervillains all that often. And, quite honestly, he preferred it that way. Gotham villains weren’t like the ones in Star City or Metropolis. Newly fourteen-year-old boys that crossed their paths didn’t live to tell the tale or develop the pictures, for the most part. 

So, Tim Drake wasn’t looking for Two-Face that July night, riding around one of Gotham’s historic districts, eyes on the rooftops. And it was because Tim Drake wasn’t looking for Two-Face that he almost got run over by him. 

“Christ!” Tim squeaked, wrenching his handlebars to the right to avoid the nondescript, black sedan coming right for him. His front tire hit a lamp post, bouncing backwards and sending Tim crashing towards the ground. Instead of watching the ground, however, he watched the untinted windows of the car as it sped past him. 

The man’s suit was split perfectly down the middle, one side white, one side black. The symmetry mirrored the two sides of his faces. One was the poised, charismatic trial attorney. The other half sported burned, bubbling skin, turned red and tortured by acid. His lips had been burned away there, revealing white teeth all the way to the gum. He only had one eyelid, making him an unblinking monster of a man. 

Tim had seen Two-Face on the news before. The in-person vision, even brief, was ten times as horrifying. There were certain details that didn’t come through, even with 4k resolution. 

Bleeding from various scrapes and scratches from his merger with the pavement, Tim sat there, half on his bike, half off, trembling. He needed to pick himself up and ride all the way back to the Drake Estate. No stops. Not even for energy drinks. 

But he didn’t do that. 

Instead, he watched as the car pulled behind a private residence. The house was at least a hundred years old and in impeccable condition. The front door was bracketed with columns and the rest of the outside was covered in beautiful moldings. 

Money. Old money. Not like the Wayne’s, but certainly something a crime lord could afford as a secret base. 

Almost against his will, Tim felt himself leaving his bike behind, creeping closer to the house Two-Face had pulled into. The rest of the street was deserted. An older neighborhood. He couldn’t expect anyone to hear his screams if something went wrong. All the hearing aids had been turned off for the night. 

This fact didn’t send him running for his bike.

The back door was the door Two-Face had use, so Tim situated himself in the bushes outside the front of the house. His sneakers sank in what he hoped was mud, but he was crouched in the perfect position to peer in through a window. 

Inside, two goons sat in a breakfast nook. They were playing cards with bulky, clumsy fingers and studiously trying not to glance at their boss by the fireplace. 

And Tim totally got that, because Harvey Dent was in rare form tonight. 

Hands shoved into the pockets of his mismatched suit, the villain paced back and forth in front of the mantle. Every few passes, he paused to growl at a hand radio that had seen better days. Someone had spray painted half of it purple and then slammed it against something hard. 

In an attempt to hear what Two-Face was saying, Tim pressed one ear against the cold glass. He winced when he found it strangely wet but soldiered on. 

“...to lure him to me...what would he expect...no...never done that before…suspicious...Princess Diana’s double-diamond pendant...no....” 

Just as Tim moved to remove his ear from the glass, Two-Face shouted, “Batman! Two minds but we’ve got to be one!” 

So, he was trying to come up with a trap for Batman, Tim mused. Probably to get the Caped Crusader out of the way, leaving the villain in the clear for his end game. 

Leaping back from the mantle, Two-Face pulled out his gun and let off a barrage of bullets at the radio. “Batman dies tonight!” 

Tim flinched so hard at the commotion, he fell backwards into the mud with a grunt. Luckily, the sound wasn’t loud enough to be heard over gun fire. Two-Face was too worked up to notice an extra pair of eyes on him anyways. 

The next moment, Tim was up and halfway to his bike. Maybe he could work out Two-Face’s master plan on the way, maybe not. But one thing was for sure: he needed to warn his hero. 

A quick glance at his bat-feed told Tim what he already knew. There hadn’t been any bat-sightings yet tonight. It was still a little early for the Caped Crusader, which meant there was only one place that Tim could reliably find him at. He bit his lip, unsure if he was willing to risk life and limb to go to this place. 

Before Tim could change his mind, he climbed on his bike and started off towards Wayne manor. Sometime during the arduous ride over there, a short burst of rain fell from the sky. Instead of washing off the mud clinging to his clothes, it just made his jeans heavier and his body colder. The night was unseasonably brisk. 

Despite his discomfort, Tim almost wished the ride had taken him longer, because before he knew it, he was pedalling up the drive to the intimidating, gothic mansion that housed the Bats. To complete the picture, a flash of lightning struck in the distance, thunder rolling in only a few moments later. 

So, the choices were between knocking on Wayne manor’s door or being struck by 300 million volts of electricity. 

Tim had barely finished his first go at a large, ornate knocker when the door opened to reveal Alfred Pennyworth, ally to the Bat. 

Having only seen him in pictures and across the room at a Wayne charity gala, he took a good moment to stare up at the elderly man. Mr. Pennyworth stood ramrod straight, clothes impeccably crisp and clean despite the weather. An air of confidence and competence followed in his wake. He was exactly the kind of man who would stand with Batman. 

With that realization, all the words Tim had scripted out on the way over left his head. He watched them go with a numb sort of terror. This wouldn’t be the first time he floundered socially. 

“It’s a little past visiting hours, Master Drake,” Mr. Pennyworth said, no surprise leaking into his voice. “What can I do for you?” 

“You know my name!” 

Mr. Pennyworth raised a white eyebrow. “Yes, I do. As well as your parent’s names. Speaking of, do they know their only son is running around Gotham in the middle of the night?” 

Honestly, Tim thought, there was a good chance they were too wrapped up in their work to remember they had a son, let alone wonder what he was doing at the moment. But that wasn’t the kind of thing you could tell adults. 

“Su-sure,” he said. “They sent me here.” 

Both eyebrows went up this time. “I see. In need of a cup of sugar, perhaps?” 

It was clear that whatever Tim was selling, the butler wasn’t buying. A strangled noise left Tim’s throat, as his thoughts raced. Usually, he’s a lot better on his feet than this. 

“Right. No, no sugar,” he said. “I need to talk to Batman.” 

Long, slender fingers tightened against the wood of the Wayne’s front door. “I beg pardon?”

“I know. I know that Bruce Wayne is Batman.” he said, words coming faster and faster. “Dick Grayson was Robin. And then Jason after him. Barabara Gordan is--well, maybe not anymore, but-- I know about everything. I follow you guys around every night!” 

The butler had gone paler and paler as Tim kept speaking, which made Tim want to shut up and hide. Nothing good could come from this much undivided attention. But he held firm. 

“I found out when I was nine. It was Robin’s quadruple flip. I saw Dick do it as a Flying Grayson, and there are only a few people that can do that, so I connected the dots. Everyone else’s identity was easy after that.” 

After a long moment and another flash of lightning, Mr. Pennyworth said, “Perhaps you’d better come in out of the storm.” 

Once he was inside the mansion, it all started to pour out. How he had run into Two-Face, followed him back to his lair. Everything he had overheard Harvey saying, how he was sure the villain was going to strike out at Batman and maybe all of Gotham. He even told the man about his muddy pants before he could find the power to shut his mouth. 

“We have to warn him,” Tim said when his ranting came to an end. “Two-Face is going to kill Batman!” 

Mr. Pennyworth had been eerily silent while listening to Tim’s ravings. Now, he lept into action. But instead of calling Batman through whatever mode they used to communicate, he grabbed Tim’s hand and pulled him into the main sitting room. 

“Master Drake, I’m afraid I’ll have to insist that you don’t move from this spot. I’ll return shortly.” 

With that, the butler swept from the room, practically leaving a tailwind in his wake. Tim stared at the mahogany door frame the man had disappeared behind for a good, long moment before he came to his senses. 

He was here. At the Batman’s lair. He’d revealed that he knew the secret identities of the entire Bat Fam and had been stalking them for a significant portion of his life. By all rights, the boy should be terrified, wondering when the hanging from his thumbs in the dungeon would begin, but….

But he was here. At the Batman’s lair. _Unsupervised_. 

Hurrying out of the room, he moved silently through the house in the hopes of following voices or footsteps. He also kept an eye out for any Batman collectables that might be laying around, but mostly he just saw expensive vases and portraits of long dead Waynes. 

This wasn’t his first time at Wayne Manor, but he hadn’t been to a party here since he was very young. Nothing looked as familiar as he hoped it would. By the time he passed the same broom closet three times, he had to admit he was lost. So lost, he didn’t even know how to get back to where he was supposed to be waiting. 

Sitting carefully onto an antique chair in another sitting room, he looked up above the mantle place at two beaming faces. A man and a woman. The portrait was done in a sort of surreal style, but it wasn't hard to identify the objects based on picture’s he’d seen: Thomas and Martha Wayne. 

A sense of wrongness flooded through his body, and he stood, brushing off any dirt particles that might have gotten on the couch. He didn’t belong here, under the watchful eye of Batman’s parents. Mr. Pennyworth--and his hero, for that matter--were going to be so disappointed in him. 

He was so consumed with the pit in his stomach that he almost missed the time on the grandfather clock on the back wall. The clock hands clearly read 10:47, but it was well past midnight by now. Mr. Pennyworth didn’t seem the type to leave an antique clock unwound. 

As he drew closer to the clock, he shivered, a sudden draft hitting him that seemed to come from behind the clock. Eyes wide and fingers shaking, Tim gripped the corner of the clock and pulled lightly, fully expecting to be flattened by the antique. 

But instead, the clock swung away to reveal a secret passageway and stairs leading down into some sort of cave below the manor. 

“Oh my god. It’s a literal cave. It’s a bat cave,” Tim breathed out. 

He was through the opening and down the stairs before consciously telling his body to move. The sight that awaited him was like something out of a fever dream. And it would have been the best dream he ever had. 

The stairs gave way to a large cavern with drop offs, stalactites, and, judging from a few beady eyes staring down from the roof of the cave, bats. The batmobile’s runway stood empty, but Tim caught a glimpse of a helicopter and a super suit, which was almost just as exciting. There was also a giant penny and a dinosaur, but he didn’t have time to fully digest that, because he had seen the computer.

It was massive, like one of those flat screen TVs that take up the whole wall. His mother would have thought it gaudy and pedestrian. Tim thought the device looked like it had enough processing power to bring the world to its knees. His fingers twitched slightly at the thought of powering it up for his own devices. 

The sound of a throat being cleared brought his attention to Mr. Pennyworth who was standing right beside the computer, looking none too put out to see Tim. 

“So I guess now that I’ve seen all this you’ll have to kill me.” Tim let out a weak laugh that died in the wake of the butler’s scrutiny. 

“Master Drake--” 

“Did you tell Batman?” 

The man sighed and stepped away from the computer and closer to Tim. “He’s been informed. I suspect he’s in pursuit of Two-Face as we speak.” 

In an attempt to avoid Mr. Pennyworth’s gaze, Tim went back to looking wildly around the cave, eyes soaking up every detail he could. Inevitably, his eyes found a glass case off to the side. It was prominent enough that Batman likely walked past it every night but far enough from the computer that Tim hadn’t noticed the tell-tale red, green, and yellow. 

Forcing his eyes away from Jayson’s and Dick’s Robin suit, side-by-side, he asked, “What do we do now?” 

“Master Timothy, we wait here as I always do. Patiently.” 

That threw Tim for a loop, forcing his mind away from thoughts of two dead birds. “But you know he’s gone after Two-Face. You know the danger. How can you just put it out of your mind?”

Alfred’s focus shifted to the glass case for a moment before coming back to Tim. When those wrinkled eyes returned, they were wet. “It’s never out of my thoughts. Never. It consumes me. I spend each evening fearing the worst...and praying for that feeling of relief I get when Master Bruce returns, no matter his condition. Timothy, if you dwell on worst-case scenarios, you can worry yourself to an early grave.” 

Now he was starting to sound like the school psychologist. 

“I can’t stop thinking about the worst. Someone’s got to do something.” 

There were burn marks and blood stains all over Jayson’s uniform. It looked like it’d been cared for but obviously had been through too many wars to return to its original form. Still, if Tim closed his eyes, he could see Jayson in it. He’d flip through the air, swearing wildly at Batman while the other man pretended to be angry about it. 

One of his favorite pictures of the Caped Crusaders wasn’t even of them being heroic or soaring against the Gotham skyline. It was a candid shot of Batman and Robin perched near a gargoyle. Robin’s arms were splayed wide as he animatedly recounted something to his partner. What struck Tim most about the image was Batman’s air of attentiveness, how he hung on Robin’s every word. Like the boy was important to him. Like everything he said was interesting and worth listening to. 

The Drake wealth might not have been his to fork over, but Tim would have given anything--including every last penny--to have his parents look at him like that just once. 

Batman protects everyone. Maybe it was time someone did the same for him. 

When Tim swung open the glass display case, Mr. Pennyworth’s head shook back and forth furiously. 

“Tim, don’t. You know what happened to Jason...to Dick.” 

“Of course I do. But Batman needs help. Batman needs Robin,” Tim said, tugging off his clothes and trying to to feel self conscious. “And, no offense, sir, but I don’t think you’d fit into the short pants.” 

Dick’s uniform was in much better condition than Jayson’s, so he went for the classic look, even though he had preferred Jayson’s updates. 

Mr. Pennyworth didn’t offer any more words of warning as Tim donned the Robin uniform. He seemed frozen, like a person watching a natural catastrophe unfold before them. Fight, flight, or freeze, and Tim really hoped the older man wasn’t going to land on fight. 

When Tim started towards a cycle, the butler finally spoke up. “If I can’t dissuade you, I’m coming with. I can’t let you go alone.” 

Honestly, Tim kind of wanted to take him up on that offer. But he knew he couldn’t. “You have to stay behind, Mr. Pennyworth.” His voice was so forceful and serious, not shaking at all, that the butler stopped in his tracks. 

Tim continued. “You’re all he has left. Jason’s gone. Dick’s gone. Batgirl is out of commission. If something were to happen to you, he’d be all alone.” 

Before the butler could come up with a rebuttal, Tim swung his leg over a dark blue cycle. The engine turned on automatically, causing Tim to literally jump in fright as the vehicle roared to life beneath him. 

When Tim looked back at Mr. Pennyworth, the man seemed to have aged twenty years.

“Young master, do you even know how to drive that thing?” 

“Sure. It’s just like my bike sans pedals, right?” 

“Oh, dear.” 

Before anything else could be said, he pressed down on the accelerator and shot towards the exit of the cave, trying not to turn himself into a pancake on Batman’s nice roadway. His mother would have scolded him for lack of manners, but he could be dead before sunrise, so she didn’t really have to know.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment below and let me know what you think of this!


End file.
